What is wrong with me?
Quinn put his hands on her waist as he lifted her off her feet and set her on the sand. And when their eyes caught and sparks flew again, Shelley suddenly realized she’d gotten it backward about something being wrong.
Not only had things never felt so right with anyone else, but every moment they spent together having fun this afternoon made the idea of an island fling with Quinn look better and better.
Rockwell or not.
Chapter Eight
“CLAMMING?” SHELLEY LOOKED so sexy with one hand on her hip as she looked from the bucket to the wet sand and then to him in surprise that it took all of Quinn’s willpower not to kiss her.
Their outing had started out as a way to spend time with her, but it had already moved way past that. The more he got to know her, the more he wanted her—and the more he liked her, too. Unlike some women who seemed acutely aware of every move they made, almost to the point of appearing calculated, Shelley was clearly comfortable in her own skin and didn’t seem to worry about how she acted. And she was obviously not attracted to his family wealth. She’d nearly run from it, in fact. He definitely wanted to get to the bottom of what that was all about, but right now he just wanted to have some fun with her.
And, hopefully, to also make good on his promise from last night to give her a kiss that she wouldn't be able to forget...
“Clamming is my dirty little secret.” He grinned at the thought of digging around together in the sand with her for a while. It had been a really long time since he’d done something like this, an activity that wasn’t attached to a spreadsheet or a bottom line.
Quinn took off his shoes, and she did the same. Hell, even her pretty painted toe-nails turned him on. Every last part of her was so beautiful, so damn sexy. The sparks that flew between them as he took her hand to lead her closer to the water line were so strong that he once again had to forcefully tamp down the urge to kiss her. He was desperate to feel her curves against him, to hear her gasp with pleasure, and to see desire take her over. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop at just one kiss, and right now he was determined to show her a good time—outside of the bedroom. So, for now he’d have to be satisfied holding her hand as they walked across the bay floor.
“Clamming has always sounded like a lot of fun,” she said. Her words were a little husky, and it wasn't hard to guess that she was right up against the edge of desire the way he was. “But how can we do it when there’s no water? Don’t the clams move around?”
Lord knew he wasn't having any easier of a time staying focused on clamming as he told her, “Most people get big rakes, about as tall as you are, and when the tide is still around waist high, they drag the rakes through the bay floor and scoop up the clams. But when my dad taught us how to clam when we were kids, he’d take us out at low tide and make us use our hands to dig them up. The sand is soft on top, but it’s hard just an inch or two deeper. It makes for sliced-up fingers from razor clams and fingernails full of grit, but it’s actually more fun than using rakes.”
“More fun? I’m in. Let’s do it that way.” She tossed her rake into the bucket.
“You sure? It’s pretty messy business. You might break a nail, and like I said, razor clams can cut pretty deep.”
“Do I look like the type of girl who cares about breaking a nail?” She stepped in close and went up on her toes, bringing her closer to his height. “And before you answer that, you should know that if you answer yes, I’ll work twice as hard to prove you wrong.”
Their thighs brushed, and just as his body registered the feel of hers against him, every sizzling, perfect memory of the hot kiss they’d shared came rushing back. He’d tried to refrain from kissing her until he was absolutely sure she wanted him to, but everything she did drew him closer.
“Okay, skinny-dipping girl. Let’s put your money where your mouth is.”
Shelley had a handful of looks, and Quinn now realized he was cataloging them. Her eyes widened when she was excited. When she was nervous, her lower lip quivered the slightest bit. And when the air between them heated up and her breathing quickened—just the way it was right now—her whole face softened, from her stunning green eyes to her full lips, as if she were readying herself for a kiss.
That was his favorite look, he thought as she stepped in closer. And this time, he couldn’t resist lowering his lips to hers.
QUINN KISSED HER slowly, sensually, as if he was discovering her through the kiss and didn’t want to miss a single dip or curve of her mouth. Need built inside her by the second as he lingered on her lower lip, his tongue teasing her there before sweeping inside her mouth to tangle with hers.
In a heartbeat, she felt his control snap just as hers did, his hands tangling in her hair even as hers were grasping at his broad shoulders. His muscles were hard and flexing beneath her fingertips, his mouth hungry and hot as she tried to draw him closer.
She’d never known anything more perfect than kissing Quinn while the sun warmed them as they wound limbs tighter to each other and the ocean birds sang above them.
Oh God, how could she possibly resist him—his passion, his intensity? Quinn’s kiss wasn’t a moment; it was an experience…and every inch of her felt blissfully alive.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you again since I tucked you into bed last night. Wanted to make good on my promise to you to give you a kiss that you’d never be able to forget.”
It wasn’t only his words, wasn’t just the sensuality in his tone that weakened Shelley’s resolve. It was the way he looked at her—as if he was unbelievably thankful to be holding her in his arms and kissing her—that made her desperate to experience his glorious mouth again.
“You definitely made good on it,” she told him. “Because there’s no way I will ever be able to forget that kiss. Or this next one, either, I hope.”
Going up on her toes, she kissed him this time, and it was so easy to sink into the strength of his embrace as they both took each other deeper. Part of her wanted to go slow and relish every single second in his arms, but the other part of her wanted to give in to the frenzied rush of passion, the storm of desire that swamped her as she realized just how right Quinn’s arms felt around her, holding them close.
As if the intense kisses were overwhelming him in the same powerful way they were overwhelming her, he drew back and touched his forehead to hers, his breath coming fast, his fingers still tangled in her hair.
“I love kissing you, Shelley.” He moved one hand from her hair to stroke the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, and she shivered at how erotic it felt. “So damn much.”
And she loved the sensual way he said her name. For twenty-seven years Shelley had sounded like the most normal name in the world, but in one afternoon, Quinn had breathed extraordinary new life into it.
At the same time that a part of her longed to kiss him again and just keep kissing him for the rest of the afternoon, the still barely rational part of her knew she really did need to think beyond the reckless desire pulsing through her. Because while she liked the idea of a fling, in reality, she wasn’t a quickie and forget-the-guy type of girl. Besides, for the life of her, she couldn’t slot Quinn into that place in her mind. He just didn’t feel like a fling despite the fact that they’d only just met.
With her heartbeat throbbing in her ears, and her lips still tingling from their incredible kisses, she forced herself to take a step back so that they could spend more time getting to know each other before any of their clothes started coming off.
“I love kissing you, too,” she told him, her voice still more than a little breathless from his kisses, her self-control hanging on only by the barest thread. “But we should probably focus on clamming…for now.”
“Yes. Right.” But he didn't stop looking at her mouth for several long beats, until he finally said, as if he was trying to remind himself, “I brought you here to teach you how to clam. I have to warn you, though, I want to kiss you again so badly th
at I can hardly think of anything else. So I may not be the best teacher.”
She would bet he had plenty of other things he could teach her.
Ohmygod. Stop it.
The problem was that she’d never enjoyed kissing anyone as much as she enjoyed kissing Quinn...and all she could think about was doing it again. And again. And again. Especially when he was still looking at her as if he wanted to devour every inch of her, head to toe.
Clearly, this wasn’t just an adventure in clamming; it was an adventure in reeling in temptation as well.
Both of them looked out at the bay for a few moments, and she knew he was trying to clear his head just like she was.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Clams burrow under the sand.” He squinted as he visually inspected the sand. “We’re looking for spit marks.”
“Spit marks?”
“Yeah, that’s what we call them. If you fling excess water onto the sand, the drops of water make marks.” He curled his fingers so his fingertips touched his thumb, then flung them open. “We’re looking for steamers, or soft-shell clams, and when they burrow into the wet sand, their siphon spurts water and makes the mark.”
“Sounds like we have to really look carefully,” Shelley said as she worked to focus on his instruction and not how sexy he looked as he gave it, “because if you splash in one of these little pools of water, then you can create those marks, and you’d be digging for nothing.”
“You’re a quick study, aren’t you?” He grinned at her, making her feel all swoony again...and hot everywhere she was dying for him to kiss, to touch. “My siblings and I had a good time playing that prank to death. Let’s see if we can find some marks.”
“How many brothers do you have?” she asked as they moved at a snail’s pace farther away from the beach.
“Three brothers, and you just met my only sister, Sierra. I don’t know how good a look you got at the rest of my family in the restaurant, but my oldest brother, Trent, was the one in the white dress shirt at the table. He’s an attorney and lives in New York. My younger brother Derek was sitting closest to the bar. He’s a custom builder and stonemason and lives in Boston. Ethan’s my youngest brother. He lives on the island and runs a fishery. He’s usually easy to spot because he always looks like he’s just come off a boat and can’t wait to get right back out on the water.”
Shelley had taken only a quick glance at the table when she was talking with Sierra, but she’d seen three handsome men, all very similar in looks, though none were as striking to her as Quinn.
“Do you all get along?”
“Most of the time. We tease each other a lot, but just out of love, you know. And we’re all protective of Sierra.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but she could tell by his smile that his relationship with his siblings was everything. “What about you? Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“No. It’s just me. I used to wish I had brothers or sisters, but wishing doesn’t get us very far, does it?”
“I don’t know about that. I think we usually are able to accomplish our goals because they’re based on really strong wishes, don’t you? I can’t imagine it was easy to get your café started. Did that start as a dream, or did you stumble upon it?”
He rubbed his chin again, and Shelley realized that was something he did when he was either thinking or listening intently. She liked that he was interested in her life.
“My coffee shop wasn’t really a wish or a dream. I’m not much of a planner, actually.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “But you planned a solo honeymoon.”
“True, but that was just flight and hotel arrangements. I didn’t plan a single minute of the week I’m going to be here.” A week that suddenly felt way too short. “I think life is more fun when you follow your heart, so that’s how I live mine. It’s even how I stumbled into my coffee business. Don’t laugh, but the reason I moved to Maryland was because I fell in love with a bungalow on Waring Creek. I’d taken a weekend road trip to go to a Renaissance festival and got horrifically lost trying to find the small town it was supposed to be in. Anyway, I found this bungalow for sale, and it was a steal. Since it felt like the right place for me at the time, I took a chance, used the money I’d saved from working during and after college, and bought it.”
“Why would I laugh at that?”
“A girl gets lost and buys a house in an unfamiliar state. Some people might find that strange.”
“More like going with your gut, if you ask me. Plus, it fits you perfectly.”
Most of the people she shared that story with called her crazy, but Quinn didn’t seem to think it sounded crazy at all. Warmth spread through her as she thought about how nice it was not only to be accepted for who she was, but to also be respected for following her instincts. She was amazed, yet again, to realize that he appealed to her both as a sexy man she wanted to be naughty with and also as a friend. She'd never met a man who could be both a lover and a friend. Not until Quinn. And, of course, it only made her want him more.
“So what happened after you got the house?”
“The coffee shop is around the corner from my bungalow, and I would walk there every morning and have coffee. I got to know the owner, this lovely old man named Gus McGentry.” She smiled with the memory of the gentle, smart-witted, grandfatherly man. “He’d run the business for forty years. Never made much of it other than the quaint shop on the corner, but he loved it, and it showed. Especially by how much he enjoyed getting to know the customers. He didn’t have family, and I guess we sort of became each other’s family.”
“Don’t you have family?”
“I do, but we’re not very close.” She deliberately shook that thought away as she continued with her story. “Gus and I used to spend hours talking about life and the dreams he’d had for the business but could never afford to make come true. Although I suspect it was more that he didn’t know the right way to go about it, because he picked my brain on a daily basis about what I’d do with the shop. Eventually customers came to expect seeing me, and I spent more and more time getting to know them. Long story short, he hired me, and we spent months working side by side. We’d often talk long after the shop was closed.”
She felt a tug of longing for the man who had given her such unexpected joy.
“Anyway, I expect he knew that he was nearing the end of his life, although he’d never said anything to me. He passed away in his sleep and he left the business to me. I’ll never forget the day he died. He used to open the doors at five a.m. sharp. He never missed a day during the months I knew him. But he missed that day. When I arrived at six and the shop was dark and the doors were locked, I knew.”
When her breath hitched in her chest at the pain of loss she still felt to this day, Quinn brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “It sounds like you made his life better. So much better, Shelley. You must miss him.”
“Yes.” She had to clear her throat to push past the lump in it. “We both really enjoyed each other’s company, and I miss him a lot. I’ve always believed that the day I got lost, I was supposed to find the bungalow, because Gus and I were supposed to meet.”
“I’m thinking you’re right,” he agreed in a gentle voice.
She looked up at him and smiled, loving the way he accepted who she was so easily. Her parents had scoffed when she’d taken over Gus’s business and had tried to talk her out of running some old man’s dying venture. She’d never thought they had much vision, and their comment had made her wonder if they had no hearts, either. The Creek Café hadn’t been anywhere close to a dying venture, and since she’d taken it over, it had become a huge success.
“Do you believe in fate?” Shelley suddenly asked Quinn.
He paused for a long moment, never once looking away from her face, before finally saying, “I’d like to.”
That was good enough for Shelley, so she didn’t push for more. But as she continued to walk hand in hand with him on the wet sand, she cou
ldn’t help but wonder if fate had stepped in again with the intent of turning her solo honeymoon into something made for two instead.
The question had barely passed through her head when suddenly he was crouching and pulling her down to the sand beside him.
“See these marks? And see this hole?” He pointed to small indentations in the sand. “These are perfect spit marks, and that’s where the clam dug down, but this is old. See how the hole is dry and sunken around the top? This is what it looks like when the clam dug down too long ago. That clam is too deep by now and not worth digging for, but hopefully we’ll find another one pretty soon.”
She smiled at him as they rose to their feet, thinking how much more relaxed Quinn seemed compared to how he’d been when he’d walked up to her at the bar. “It’s incredible to think that with all the chaos in day-to-day lives, people actually slow down enough to come here and look for these marks, isn’t it?”
“Actually, I think what’s really incredible is the way that you connected with Gus at his coffee shop,” Quinn said. “But maybe some things are meant to be. Especially since it sounds like you found a business you love.”
“I really do love it. I know I might seem like a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type of person, but the café keeps me grounded—and lets me fly at the same time. I have all the administrative things to keep up with, like sourcing the best organic beans, and then there’s the consistency of the schedule, of course. But it’s more than a business to me, whether I’m comforting a customer who needs a shoulder to lean on or chatting with college kids coming in to do homework. I think they see me as the older, wiser sister type and ask for advice.”
“You’re full of so much passion, aren’t you?”
He stroked her cheek again as he said it, and she barely held back her gasp of awareness at how much she liked his touch. Craved his touch already, if she was being totally honest with herself. And the way his eyes heated whenever he looked at her made her want so badly to show him exactly how much passion she had inside of her.
Cape Cod Kisses Page 7
